This is one of the most outrageous wildflowers, in my opinion, because these blossoms absolutely do look just like trumpeting pink elephants. Maybe Mother Nature is also a flibbertigibbet, like me.
I am a flibbertigibbet. This is a personality diagnosis my mother made when I was a child. It was also her recurring, vocal lament over the years whenever I did something particularly careless or nonsensical. Of course, nobody uses this word any more … except for me. I left a stove burner on the other day and muttered, “Ugh, I am such a flibbertigibbet,” which my hubbers found a lot funnier than the fact that I didn’t turn off the gas. Like Moira Rose (Schitt’s Creek) I kind of like the occasional antiquated word or odd expression from another culture. For example, when a storm comes through, I’ll channel a favorite Scottish author and shout, “It’s blowin’ a hoolie out there!” Linguistic quirks are like reviving a drab room with a bright throw pillow. Little pops of color and pattern transforming an otherwise plain space. Maybe this fanciful aspect of my personality is what underpins my love of wildflowers. It’s worth it to me to wander through miles of ubiquitous golden banner and ho-hum fleabanes when I know that occasionally, I’ll spy some little pink elephant heads will leave me positively agog.